


My Father's Gods

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:59:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night he believes he is going to die, Jorah writes to the only person he has left in the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Father's Gods

He wrote to her the night of the storm. He’d banished the Imp, sick of the sight of him even as he knew he needed Tyrion far more than the Lannister needed him. It was a funny thing though, because when the ship began to rock wildly and the winds to howl, Jorah almost missed the scathing wit of his companion. He would have provided distraction in any case. Instead, he was stuck listening to the frantic cries of the sailors far above him on the deck and with his own thoughts that told him maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he died. He felt trapped in the cabin, his bulk only serving to make the small room seems smaller, and he swallowed an entire skin of wine before he thought it might not be the best of ideas.

In his discomfort and, yes, his terror, his eyes fell on the tiny trunk that had been tucked away in the corner of the cabin since he arrived. Tyrion had opened it that first night and laughed at the meagre writing supplies, wondering out loud if the trunk was the captain’s idea of civilisation. It had remained unopened ever since – Tyrion knew he would not be permitted to even think of writing and Jorah had no one to write to even if he wanted.

Well, almost no one.

In a fit of desperation, as the ship rolled again and teetered at an angle for a second longer than was comfortable. Jorah slid towards the trunk and took out what was needed. If he was going to die this day, he would make his last words known, even if he had to launch them into the sea tucked inside an empty wine skin.

 _Khaleesi,_ he began, his hand shaking with effort _, Today I meet my death on a ship lost to the sea. My father’s gods, the old gods, seem so very far away that I can scarce hope they will come for me here, and even if they could I wonder that they would not. I have let down everyone who ever loved me, Khaleesi, divine and otherwise, and as I face my end today I can think only that I deserve to die alone and suffering. Perhaps the old gods can see me after all and are only trying to provide me with the fate I deserve._

_I write to tell you that, for what it is worth, I truly am sorry. It was foolish pride that stopped my hand before, a pride that told me you valued me too much to let me go. I know better now that it is not true and I hope you can forgive me. I will not apologise for loving you, Daenerys, because I think not that you minded so much about that, and I have enough regret about the people I have loved to last me the rest of my life, however short that might be. I love you still and perhaps it gives you some comfort to know I went to my grave still feeling so; you were the home that I longed for, a fact I freely acknowledge I was too late to realise._

_I hope these words find you well, my lady, my princess, my queen. One day you shall rule over all the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and I know there would never have been a more just and fairer monarch. I knew it from the moment I first set eyes on you and you must trust me when I say that belief never wavered, not once. I looked forward to standing in your court one day and I hope I do not flatter myself if I ask that when you hold your first court in King’s Landing perhaps you could think of me, if only for a moment._

_I know not what happens after death, Khaleesi, and I do not ever think I have been given an explanation I truly believe. I hope though, I wish, that perhaps wherever I am bound my mother waits for me. I miss her. I haven’t thought about her for a long time; she reminds me of sadness and I am so tired of grief. Think of me with her and perhaps even as you think it, it will be true. Gods, I hope it is true._

_The storm rages, Daenerys, and as it rages I fear I am lost. I’m so afraid. I’m so afraid._

_Your servant,_

_Ser Jorah Mormont._

He didn’t even stop to read what he had written; Jorah simply rolled the parchment tightly and slipped it into the empty skin. Standing on shaking legs, head thick with wine, he was thrown suddenly to the other side of the cabin as the ship jolted viciously. His head hit the wall, hard, and there was just time to feel the bile rising in his throat before his vision went black and Ser Jorah Mormont knew no more.


End file.
